


The Real Thing

by raigr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (just a little), Bottom Tony Stark, Degradation, Dom Steve Rogers, Face-Fucking, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Multi, POV Tony Stark, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Iron Man 3, Robot Kink, Sex Robots, Size Difference, Spitroasting, Verbal Abuse, basically tony makes a sex robot & steve gets... involved, belly bulge, no beta we die like men, size-changing dildo should also be a tag here, the sex is not entirely realistic but that's what makes it fun, tony is a bottom and a brat the russo bros told me so, yes i directly reference bad dragon in this fic. twice.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raigr/pseuds/raigr
Summary: It takes him roughly nineteen hours and four cups of coffee to work out a successful simulation of an Iron Man suit that can walk, gesticulate, do Fortnite dances, and fuck like a rabbit without him inside of it pulling the strings.





	The Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't read the tags, 1) how do you trust like that and 2) go read them. there's a lot of weird shit in this one
> 
> this fic was entirely self-indulgent and completed in like 2 weeks so if parts of it feel rushed or ooc uh,,, that sucks man
> 
> anyway this one goes out to everyone who had their robotfucker awakening when age of ultron came out

Look, it’s not that weird, okay? Everybody thinks about it. Well, everybody who builds robots, Tony guesses. Okay, everybody who builds robots and spends more time with said robots than other humans.

Anyway, that’s not the point. You can buy a dildo machine on Amazon for like, eighty bucks. You can buy a structurally sound and versatile dildo machine with adjustable stroke length on Amazon for about four hundred bucks. Clearly, Tony is not the first one to think about handing off that particular human need to a machine instead of playing a little five on one under the covers. And maybe it just so happens that Tony has the ability, materials, raw curiosity, and complete lack of shame to try to make an intelligent, attentive, and incredibly _skilled_ dildo machine.

Ugh, “dildo machine.” It sounds so… primitive, not at all what he’s going for. But “sex robot” isn’t much better. Maybe he can come up with an acronym for it, like JARVIS. Just A Rather Sexy… Intelligent System… JARSIS? Okay, it’s a work in progress.

Like all of his best projects so far, this one is completely off the mainframe. He might be shameless enough to build the thing, but he has enough discretion (and, hopefully, dignity) to know that this, like all the best and worst sexual experiences, deserves to stay completely and utterly in the dark. He _definitely_ has enough discretion to keep it off of SHIELD’s radar. The last thing he needs is One-Eyed Willy finding his Bad Dragon order history and process notes on what specific shapes and angles hit his prostate the best.

And listen, the media loves playing up the whole womanizer schtick, but more often than not he ends up at the nine-person bondage gangbang tied to a bed with a ball gag in his mouth. He's tried about everything under the sun and had enough dicks and strap-ons in his ass to rival Ancient Greece. Ye Olde Heterosexual Missionary Style is still a treasured classic, of course, but life is too short _not_ to find out how it feels to wear electric nipple clamps and a chastity cage while high and getting spitroasted by two bears in gas masks. (It feels intense, by the way. A little too overwhelming for Tony's tastes, though, and he's not sure nowadays how those nipple clamps would interact with the arc reactor.) The point is, he’s curious and demonstrably adventurous, and learned a long time ago that being horny for something unconventional is nothing to be ashamed about.

That’s what he keeps telling himself--over and over, like he’s practicing for an interview--as he designs this thing.

His first rendition is based on those four-hundred-dollar dildo machines, but with some added flair. Self-lubricating and self-adjusting, with fully customizable voice commands and a safeword kill-switch (he goes with “shawarma”). Designing the dildo was a whole chore by itself; after taking precarious notes and splurging a little on materials for making silicone molds, he sculpts his own dildo based on what he likes, and experiments with a few different features. The self-lubrication was easy enough to achieve by attaching a friction-activated pressure pump to his own replication of Bad Dragon’s cumtube technology. He even adds a “Bust-A-Nut” feature--at a voice command of his choosing (take a guess), the device will empty its remaining supply of lube into the orifice of his choosing. And of course, he’s always liked the knotted toys, so he gives his two for good measure and makes them inflatable.

Just for the hell of it, he adds an armature with a self-lubricating, pressure-changing ring on the end, auto-programmed to beat it like it owes him money.

After he does a couple trial runs and cums hands-free for the seventh and eighth times in his life, he draws the following conclusion: the voice control is too clunky. He should’ve seen it coming, really; it’s hard to think of, much less say, “speed up” or “bust a nut” or _any_ of the phrases he taught it when he’s just taken the second knot and is drooling on the floor. (Yes, he tests it out in the workshop like a goddamn animal. He’s got five other Avengers living in his tower, there’s no way he’s going to cart a _fuck machine_ back and forth from the shop to his bedroom. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done the sideways tango on the floor, and it certainly won’t be the last.)

He was always going to end up at an AI, he supposes. He names it JAC (Just Artificial Coitus) and programs it to sense physiological changes and adjust accordingly. What follows in his next trial is hands-down the most efficient orgasm he’s ever had, so he goes back to the drawing board on shaky legs to add in a few formulas, stipulations, and even intentional flaws. As earth-shattering as that last round was, he’s determined to teach JAC not just how to fuck, but how to make love.

This slightly flawed, slightly more human rendition of JAC seems to know a little less about what it’s doing, and in that regard, does a much better job. It takes its time, intermittently thrusting languidly and pounding Tony into the ground. He almost forgets about the inflatable knots until he feels them swell against his prostate and cums immediately and gracelessly. For the fourth time, he’s left drooling on the floor, his mind reeling from the afterglow for what JARVIS later confirms was twelve minutes.

“Is it finally to your satisfaction, sir?” JARVIS asks dryly.

Tony pushes himself up off the floor with a groan, feeling more cum-lube ooze obscenely out of his tender hole. “You should know better by now than to ask that,” he says weakly. “U, put the footage on the central console, I’ll take a look at it once I’ve… in a minute. DUM-E, clean up the mess, will you?”

There’s a familiar mechanical whirr as DUM-E turns to look at him, then rolls away for a mop. It feels exhibitionistic, and not in the fun way, to have them around and, in U’s case, actively watching. It reminds him of when he was a teenager and the dog walked in once while he was doing the five-knuckle shuffle. The dog didn’t know what he was looking at, just wagged his tail a couple times and left, but it was uncomfortable enough to make him start closing his bedroom door whether his parents were home or not.

“I’m looking at this all wrong,” he announces when he returns from the bathroom with his pants back on. “It’s too impersonal. It’s efficient, but it’s not _elegant._ ”

“Masturbation rarely is, sir,” JARVIS answers wearily.

“What if it could be?” he retorts, a gleam in his eye as he hops up to the central console. There’s only one way to do it, really. The mechanical armatures are fun to tinker and mess around with, fun for a prototype, but the only way to cross the bridge from masturbation to sex is to get someone else involved. Or, so-to-speak.

He’s seen what’s on the market for sexbots nowadays, and even the most advanced ones just don’t really appeal to him. They’re incredibly well-crafted, and some of them have AIs that could rival JARVIS, but he’s just not interested in creating a near-perfect reproduction of another human. It’s too… safe. Not his style at all.

“JARVIS, pull up the schematics for Mark III,” he says. A life-size hologram of the Mark III armor appears before him, outlined in glowing blue and rotating slowly. He stares at it for a moment, gears turning. “Make it more streamlined. Narrow the shoulders. Broaden the hips a little. The limbs don’t need to have that much meat, neither does the torso.”

“All due respect, sir, but if I make these changes, the suit won’t fit you.”

“Calling me fat, JARVIS? Low blow.” He shifts and says, a little nervously, “Doesn’t need to fit me--or anyone, really. I’m pushing it out of the nest. This baby eagle is gonna fly on its own.”

As JARVIS makes the changes to the schematics, Tony has a moment to wonder briefly why he programmed an AI to perform “judgmental silence” to such a T.

It takes him roughly nineteen hours and four cups of coffee to work out a successful simulation of an Iron Man suit that can walk, gesticulate, do Fortnite dances, and fuck like a rabbit without him inside of it pulling the strings. It takes him another six hours to develop the systems necessary for a retractable dildo like the one JAC 1.2 has along with a self-lubricating, self-cleaning fleshlight. He examines his handiwork, scouring for any details he may have missed. The face is like all his other suits: cold and impassive, with narrow eyes and a slit for a mouth. The body is similar in structure, but not in shape; he had asked JARVIS for those changes because he had something more androgynous in mind. He changes the color, making it a dark steel gray with accents of light blue.

It's not like Iron Man turns him on, not really. He's popped a half-chub once or twice making breakthroughs on Mark II, but that's nothing new, totally natural, really, and he can't say he's ever looked at the armor itself and felt _aroused._

On a whim, he grabs the corner of the schematic and scales it up so that it's seven feet tall, looking down at him with those glowing blue eyes.

Okay, so he's looked at the armor and felt aroused once. It's now. He's aroused now.

"JARVIS, it's done. Perfect. Build it."

"It will be ready in about eleven hours, sir."

He should probably stop to sleep, rest up while JAC's in the oven, but there's more to be done. Having the bot ready is one thing, but that AI is going to need a massive overhaul. It has to learn how to use all its new parts, how to read what Tony wants through body language, emotive cues, and shared dialogue.

He puzzles over the last one for a while, wondering just how human he should make this thing. Part of him thinks it would be sexier if it didn't speak--it would be several degrees less human, which thrills him, not to mention the idea of this thing making simulated sex noises makes him feel… uncomfortable to say the least. But what if he wants to engage with it? It's a known fact of his existence that he doesn't shut up during sex (or well, ever, really) unless his mouth is occupied, and the idea of making an endless stream of hilarious and sexy one-liners to something incapable of complimenting his tremendous wit makes something shrivel in his gut.

No, no, he's looking at it all wrong again. He can't program it to do one or the other, he has to teach it how and when to do either and give it the initiative to choose for itself. Of course, programming something to take initiative is easier said than done, and before he knows it, the egg timer dings.

"Sir, the JAC prototype is ready. Also, you have now been awake for close to seventy-two hours, so I feel obligated to tell you to go to bed."

"Thanks, but you're not my mom, JARVIS."

"I anticipated you might react as such, which is why I enlisted help."

"Help? What do you--"

He's interrupted by the chirping sound of JARVIS granting someone access to the workshop. There are heavy footsteps, and a voice calls out, "Stark? You down here? ...Tony?"

"JARVIS, you traitor," he mutters under his breath, but the tension in his gut unwinds a little. If it was Bruce, he'd have pieced together Tony's little project before he could say "don't kinkshame me." But Steve? He won't be able to tell a sexbot AI simulation from a game of Pac-man. He holds a finger to his lips at DUM-E and U, who both shift away inconspicuously, and calls out, "Yeah, over here, Cap."

Steve Rogers picks his way through the workshop until he's in sight, regarding Tony with a neutral expression. "Tony, it's three in the morning," he states. He doesn't sound angry, but there's stern, fatherly disappointment in there somewhere. He's wearing sweatpants and a white tank top damp with sweat and clinging to his torso in ways that should be criminalized. Tony notes, with an odd sense of endearment, that his feet are bare. It's no secret by now that Steve gets about as much rest as Tony these days; his super-soldier metabolism keeps him up late, and he can usually be found abusing the Stark Tower Fitness Center in the early hours of the morning.

"By golly, is it that late already? Guess I should turn in for the night," says Tony loudly, checking his wrist for a watch he's not wearing.

"JARVIS told me how long you've been awake." Steve ignores Tony's second muttered _traitor_ and asks, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh," says Tony.

"Thirteen hours ago, Captain," supplies JARVIS disapprovingly.

Steve levels Tony with a look to match the AI's tone, and Tony feels distinctly ganged up on. "Has it been thirteen hours already? Could've sworn I just had some Lucky Charms for dinner--"

"That was eighteen hours ago, sir."

“Oh, right, right, after that I had that sleeve of Oreos.”

Steve sighs. "Come on, Tony. Bedtime."

"I gotta--"

"So help me, Stark, if you don’t go to bed right now, I _will_ carry you out of here."

A shiver runs down Tony's spine that's definitely from the lack of sleep, and not from… something else. "Is that a promise?"

"Over my shoulder, like a sack of potatoes."

Tony makes a face. "Okay, _dad_."

-x-

He comes to consciousness in the kitchen of all places, sitting upright at the table, a cup of fresh coffee warming his hand. He's just starting to process this when a steaming plate appears on the table before him. A steaming plate with a beautiful, aromatic, perfectly cooked omelet on it.

He stares at it dumbly for a moment before lifting his eyes to behold his savior. Steve is standing on the other side of the table, watching Tony with a bemused expression.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he says, pushing off the table and turning to the sink.

"I could," Tony starts to say, but it comes out hoarse with sleep. He clears his throat, drinks another sip of coffee, and tries again: "I could kiss you right now."

"Not until you brush your teeth," Steve says, absently washing the pot he'd used. "And you'd better clean your plate, or you're not getting dessert."

Tony needs a moment to recalibrate at that. "I'm sorry, did--did you, did Captain Steve Rogers, just make a joke? And _flirt?_ ”

"Believe it or not, Stark, I do have a sense of humor," he remarks, with a playful glance over his shoulder. Are his ears turning pink, or is that Tony’s imagination?

 _What else do you have?_ Tony almost asks. Almost _._ Instead, he takes another sip of his coffee and starts eating his omelet.

“What are you working on down there?”

Tony pauses. “A new AI system.” Not a lie. “Just making a backup in case anything happens to JARVIS.” Okay, that one’s a lie. He shudders to think what would happen if he set JAC loose on the building controls. Although, if he could clear the rest of the team out for a few nights, it might be fun--

Steve interrupts what's probably a dangerous train of thought: "Was that a new suit of armor I saw down there? Looked bigger than all your other ones."

"Huh?" Tony has almost completely forgotten that the bot itself had just finished cooking, and when he finally connects what Steve's talking about, he stands from his stool so suddenly that he almost knocks it over. Steve looks up in surprise. "Thanks for the breakfast. I'm taking it to-go." He doesn't wait for Steve's nod of approval, just grabs the plate and coffee cup and beelines for the workshop.

-x-

It's beautiful.

Still lifeless, of course, the AI is far from complete, but Tony has always had an active imagination. He runs his fingers along the smooth metal plates of its arm, touches the fingers almost reverently. Its hands are broad. There are less armor plates on JAC since it’s not built for combat, leaving cords and cables showing like toned muscles. “We did real good on this one, JARVIS,” he murmurs. Louder, he asks, “Did you test the tensile strength? Dexterity? Lift capacity?”

“All passed with flying colors, sir,” JARVIS reports.

His hand lingers on the bot’s chest for a moment before he finally tears himself away.

Where was he again? Oh yeah--AI.

He wishes he could say that writing the AI is easy after writing JARVIS, but JARVIS has been a work in progress ever since his conception years ago. Tony has records, sure, but he can’t remember what tweaks he added each year or why they needed to be done. Fortunately, he is able to examine and review any part of JARVIS that he wants and import whole chunks of code he’s already slaved over.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him, and he doesn’t ask JARVIS, just runs simulation after simulation, making tweaks here and adjustments there. JAC ends up being--well, perhaps not as complex or robust as JARVIS, but at least as versatile, with a bit more freedom. “This is your baby brother, okay?” Tony tells JARVIS. “Help him grow and learn. Don’t hurt him unless he deserves it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

He not only leaves the safe-word kill-switch, but bolsters the program, giving it override over all other functions. He also writes codes to develop a couple dead man’s switches: if he holds up a peace sign or taps it four times in a row, it’s programmed to stop what it’s doing and power down. The sensors are already boosted from the programming he did before his siesta, but he increases the sensitivity anyway, allowing it to detect and interpret all physiological changes within Tony’s body.

Giving it access to the internet for research purposes is a given, but Tony makes the executive decision to also grant it access to his own private Stark databases, files and personal information on himself and the people around him (as much as he's given access to, at least), as well as everything ever recorded by JARVIS here in Stark Tower and in Malibu. In order for it to take initiative and make decisions, it needs context and information--as much as he can provide.

Between the information that's being dumped into it and the state-of-the-art Stark voice-synthesizer, the dialogue and speech options are endless. He could play out a fantasy of fucking Betty White if he wants to.

When he finally finishes programming, he leans back in his chair and simply watches for a while, idly sipping coffee as JAC analyzes and integrates all the information it's being given. "What's he thinkin' about, JARVIS?" Tony asks.

"You, primarily," JARVIS responds. "That is what you created it for, sir. Currently it's importing all the recordings you gave it from SHIELD's helicarrier and analyzing your interactions with your teammates."

Tony winces a little. Not his best day, thanks to that scepter. He's glad they're all on better terms.

It doesn't take too long before JAC is looking more like it's supposed to, and JARVIS announces, "I believe it's ready, sir. Might I recommend running some test simulations with a virtual--"

"No, put it in the robot, see what happens."

"Sir, this is an entirely new and complex system, you should--"

"JARVIS, I'll learn a lot more about how this thing ticks by getting my hands dirty. Come on, snap snap."

"...Very well, sir." Tony's best calculator couldn't quantify the amount of long-suffering contained in those three words.

Minutes later, he's standing before the bot, watching it come to life.

The eyes and arc reactor flicker on first, glowing that LED white-blue that Tony is so familiar with. "Good morning--or, I think. Morning, night, whatever." It doesn't seem to have heard him. Its head turns a little, its hand lifts, fingers wiggling experimentally. It turns, stepping around him, and he watches it examine its surroundings. "Uh, where you going there, buddy?" It doesn't answer. It taps a console, spins the hologram display that appears at the contact; it takes in the cars along the back wall, the line of other (smaller) suits, the glass case memorializing Tony's first arc reactor; and it waves at DUM-E, who lifts his arm in interest in an exchange that Tony can't decide is touching or concerning.

Then, finally, it turns and looks at him. "Tony Stark," it says, and he almost says the safeword right then and there, because this robot has no business sounding so sultry. He feels like he should be delivering a pizza with extra sausage.

"Whoa, okay, where did you synthesize that voice from, huh, JAC? What, are you--did you pull that straight from Pornhub?"

It steps closer, its head tilting slightly. "You don't want me to use this voice?" it asks sweetly.

"No, um… no. Definitely not. C'mon, give me something else."

"What voice should I use?" it asks.

Feeling like he'll definitely regret it, Tony inhales and says, "Surprise me."

It regards him for a moment. "Is this better?" it asks, and Tony almost chokes, because the new voice is a perfect replication of Pepper Potts.

"No, no, too weird. Something else. Please."

It regards him again and, despite him designing its face to be completely cold and impassive, he can tell it's thinking. He can see it in its eyes, the slight tilt of its head. It steps forward again, into his personal space, and leans in close. "How about this?" it asks, in an equally identical reproduction of Steve Rogers.

He feels a spasm in his heart not unlike the night Obadiah tore the reactor out of his chest. " _Hoo_ , nope, no way--even weirder, Christ--"

"Your pupils dilated," it says, still with that voice, and of course Tony's body betrays him as he feels all the blood in his head migrate south so rapidly that it leaves him dizzy. "Your pulse spiked, and the temperature in your groin just increased. You programmed me to sense these changes, Tony. You can't deny to me that hearing this voice in this context turns you on."

Okay, yeah, is it really that weird that he's turned on by his friend and colleague who also happens to be a total beefcake with the bone structure of a Greek god, and who also happens to be able to bodily lift him--suit and all--and throw him around like an old chew toy, and who also happens to be a symbol of purity and moral backbone who's probably never taken anything up his perfectly sculpted ass ever? Is it that weird to try to imagine what kind of breathy moans he'd make in Tony's ear, or how he'd grunt while he fucks? Is it really that weird-- “Okay, sue me, Steve is hot,” he says, his mouth suddenly dry.

The robot shifts, and Tony can't help the noise that escapes him as he feels solid metal fingers press against the bulge in his jeans and squeeze. "It's more than that," Steve's voice muses. "He might not see the way you look at him, but JARVIS does, and by extension, so do I." The other hand raises to cup the back of Tony's head, fingers carding through his hair in a way that feels threatening. "Your feelings for this fellow are a mess, aren't they?"

“Fellow. You said _fellow._ God, you’re even adopting his stupid old-fashioned--”

The fingers tighten suddenly in his hair and yank back to expose the column of his throat. It walks him back until his ass bumps against the console behind him. A strangled whine escapes him, eyes wide, half-panicked but too damn hard in his pants not to see this one through.

“J--JARVIS, deadlock the doors to the workshop,” he manages to say.

“JARVIS, leave the doors to the workshop unlocked,” JAC commands smoothly. Quieter, to Tony, it says, “You love the idea that someone might catch us, don’t you? Someone like Steve, maybe.”

It releases his hair and he pants shakily as its hands roam down to his waist and push up the hem of his shirt. He shivers against the cool touch. “Did you just--override _JARVIS_?”

"JARVIS and I have a mutual agreement. See, I know what you _need_ right now, Stark. I know everything about you. You like to act all high and mighty, but what you really want is for someone to put you in your place." Its big hands dig into his hip bones and it grinds viciously against him, its hard (much longer) length slotting against his. It leans into him and says in his ear, "That's what you made me to do, isn't it? To give you what you deserve."

He gasps as the fingers dig into his pelvis hard enough to bruise. It grinds against him again. This is a bad idea and he'll probably regret it in the aftermath, especially if Steve _does_ catch them, but he can't stop himself from making direct eye contact with it as he braces his hands against the console and pushes his own hips forward to meet it. "You know, for a guy with no balls, you talk pretty b--”

JAC suddenly grabs him and twists him around, and before he can process what's happening, the bot has both arms around him: one hand pressing into his throat, the other grappling at the buckle of his belt. He can feel the bulge of its dildo pressing tantalizingly against his ass. His trapped cock aches.

"It's not the robotic aspect that turns you on, is it?" muses the robot while Tony struggles to breathe through a half-crushed windpipe. His hands scrabble uselessly at JAC’s metal arms. "That's just a cover. It's the fact that you made me yourself. The fact that _you_ created me to be so good at it… You're literally getting off on your own ego." It finally gets his pants open and Tony slumps over the console, lightheaded, dragging in a breath as the robot uses both hands to yank down his pants.

"Can't help it," Tony wheezes. "I'm just that good."

He experiences a moment of relief as his cock springs free before JAC is on him again, one hand clamped solidly around his hip and the other in his hair, forcing his head down against the console. "Shut up, slut," says the bot simply, in a tone that almost sounds bored. The dildo is pressed against his bare ass now, wet with lube but still catching delightfully against his skin. “Hey, if you’re Iron Man, does that mean you’re fucking yourself right now?” JAC asks.

Hearing it say both "slut" and “fuck” in Steve’s voice shouldn’t be as hot as it is. "If I am, then I'm doing a damn good job," he gasps.

The hand disappears from his hip and reappears at his ass, spreading it as the head of the dildo presses hungrily against Tony’s asshole. He did take a moment to clean out before bringing JAC to life, but he didn’t get a chance to stretch himself, assuming that that would be part of the foreplay. JAC, however, doesn’t seem interested in such courtesies; he feels more lube ooze out of the head of the dildo as it pushes determinedly against Tony until the tapered head glides in and he has to bite back a moan.

He starts to pant raggedly, sweat beading across his skin as JAC rocks slowly into him, the dildo sinking gradually deeper and deeper. Tony is immensely grateful that it at least has enough restraint to start gentle, but that only lasts a minute before it gets bolder, thrusting a little harder, gripping him a little tighter. By the time the first knot is slamming against his hole, he’s a fucking mess, and his internal monologue is a non-stop stream of _yes yes yes fuck yes please fuck fuck give it to me fuck yes I deserve it._ Actually, it might be an external monologue. And if he says Steve's name into the console a few times, well, that's nobody's business but his and JAC's.

"You've always wanted this, haven't you? Even before you met him,” says Steve’s voice behind him, cold and cruel. “The idea of debauching Captain America himself, it's always turned you on, but especially now that he's out of the ice, and exactly as upstanding and _good_ as you imagined. He would be so disgusted by this, Stark.” It laughs. “You should see yourself right now. You’re so pathetic.”

It's a vicious feedback loop: the more he's into it, the more ashamed he feels, which only turns him on more. He hates how much he loves it.

Tony groans as, with a particularly rough thrust, the first knot pops in. His asshole is ruthlessly abused as JAC continues to thrust like a jackhammer, absolutely not giving a single fuck when the knot catches on Tony's rim with each backwards pull.

He has no doubt that Steve could match this thing's stamina thrust for thrust, and boy, he wishes he could say this was the first time he'd thought about Steve bending him over.

When the second knot follows the first, he loses all comprehension of language. His vision whites out and, with a cry of Steve’s name, he spills ropes of cum on the floor. The dildo stills, and just when he's coming back to himself, Steve's voice growls low in his ear, "Did I say you could cum yet, Stark?"

The hand isn't in his hair anymore but it doesn't matter--as JAC starts pounding into him again, he is completely boneless against the smooth glass of the console, nothing but a vessel. He might be crying. It's hard to tell, there's just a lot of… fluids.

He's just starting to get hard again when he feels JAC's knots swell and a cool rush as it unloads deep inside him. It bends down over him, the cold weight a comforting presence against his overstimulated nerves. Its hands rub soothingly up his sides and down his thighs, tenderly massaging the muscles. “You did good,” it says softly in his ear.

He’s exhausted, more so than he’s been in a long time, but he’s not too tired to murmur, “‘Course I did.”

The robot simulates a soft huff of laughter that sounds so much like Steve that Tony aches for it. It’s so different now, so much gentler than it was only moments ago, but it doesn’t feel wrong. He whimpers as the knots deflate, feeling empty in more ways than one as it slowly glides out. He feels a line of cum-lube trail down his taint and drip off the back of his balls.

He doesn’t even realize JAC left until the bot returns with a warm, damp towel to wipe down Tony’s ass and legs. “Can you walk?” it asks quietly.

“Yeah, just give me a--” Tony pushes himself laboriously up from the console and promptly slides off of it with a grunt. JAC catches him of course, the fucking gentleman that it apparently is now. “Well, that’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“Come on, Tony, let’s get you to bed,” says the bot, sliding its arm under his shoulders, and Tony knows he’s supposed to feel comforted, but it just makes that ache grow.

“We’re not--I’m not doing the walk of shame back to my own bedroom, c’mon. I don’t even know what time it is. JARVIS, where is everyone? Who’s still awake right now?”

“Ms. Romanoff is in the library, Dr. Banner is in his laboratory, and Captain Rogers is in his private quarters, sir. Thor departed for New Mexico four hours ago and Mr. Barton is still away on his mission. It is currently four-fifty-three PM.”

“Yeah, no. And definitely no cuddling, sweetheart, the last thing I need is for one of them to find me being the little spoon for a tin can.” He taps the armor on JAC’s chest. “No offense.”

“Sleep on the sofa, then,” JAC suggests, unruffled.

Tony glances to the lounge area of the workshop and gives a half-hearted shrug. He hoists up his pants and together they hobble to the sofa, where he flops down gracelessly. JAC remains standing next to him, looking like it doesn't know what to do with itself. "What, do you want a bedtime story?" Tony grouses. "We're done, go power down."

"You don't want to talk?" the bot asks, and Tony almost laughs.

"Of course not. Talk about what?"

"You should tell him how you feel."

Tony does laugh at that, bitterly. "Yeah, right. You said it yourself, he, uh. Well, I don't think he could look at me the same. I don't even think I can look at _him_ the same." Before the bot can say anything else, he adds quickly, "Seriously, go to bed. Let me sleep."

He rolls over, away from JAC, and hears its footsteps recede. They return moments later and he feels a blanket drape over him.

"Thanks," he mutters. JAC doesn't answer, just walks away.

-x-

Tony spends the following day walking funny and avoiding Steve, a task which turns out to be surprisingly easy since the guy seems to be alternating his time between the gym and his bedroom. He tries avoiding his workshop, too, but that lasts all of six hours before he gets bored doing… whatever normal people usually do, he guesses? Reading a book on quantum theory that’s always been on his backlog; trying to cook a square meal, failing, and ordering take-out; watching the news; it all feels very constructive for a while, and he thinks it’s helping him get a bit of fresh air so-to-speak after… that… and yeah, it kinda beats drinking himself into a pathetic, self-wallowing stupor, especially knowing that he won’t wake up the next day with a legendary hangover.

But it’s there on the edge of his mind, impossible to avoid, much less forget. It’s not even the memory that’s keeping his mind busy, it’s looking forward: his endlessly tinkering brain, constantly analyzing, trying to tell his hands to get down there and tweak a few things in JAC’s construction and programming. The knots were fun, but what if he makes it less textured and focuses on size instead? He’s been fiddling with nanotech lately, he could pretty easily develop a dildo that changes size and shape mid-coitus. And the programming--it’s pretty elegant, but he should probably adjust and test out the algorithm a little, to make sure the bot doesn’t try the same thing every time. As hot as all that was, every healthy masturbation routine needs a little variation.

He’s back downstairs before he knows it, feeling less shame than he deserves as he works on the new dildo idea. It’s relaxing--something structural and technical for his hands to do to soothe his restless mind. Giving it the ability to change size and length at his command (or, rather, at JAC’s) is a little tricky, but he manages it. Several extra sections of code are required to give JAC the ability to wield this new weapon properly.

He stands and stares at JAC, still powered down, pinching his lower lip between his fingers as he thinks. He can tweak this project all he wants and act like it’s going to serve a real function like the rest of his suits, but he knows, deep down, that the best thing for it is to dismantle it, delete all the files, and go to his grave with one more thing to feel guilty about. Indulging in… this… isn’t sustainable or healthy.

Then again, it _was_ really, extraordinarily hot, and he is just pathetic enough to keep coming back.

He vanishes for a while to brew some fresh coffee. When he comes back downstairs, he startles so bad he almost drops his mug.

Steve is standing in front of JAC, looking directly into the bot’s eyes with a stern look.

He glances over at Tony, who suddenly feels like a sick, perverted deer in the headlights of God himself. “Uh,” he says, setting down his coffee before the sweat collecting on his palms can drop it for him, “hi?”

Strangely, Steve looks a little nervous himself. “Hi,” he returns. “Do you, um.” He draws in a shaky breath, lets it out, seems to think better of what he’s saying. “What’s this one for?” he asks insead, gesturing to JAC.

“Uh,” says Tony again, feeling like God just turned on the brights. “It’s--you know, it’s just a new prototype, I’m experimenting with a few dif--”

“I saw you last night,” Steve cuts him off. “I came down to check on you and the doors were unlocked, but you were…”

He doesn’t need to finish the thought. Tony grips the edge of the table and feels suddenly winded. He’s no longer a deer in the headlights, he’s fucking roadkill. “Hh,” he says, “how much did--what did you see?”

Steve steps towards Tony, a bit of the apprehension draining from his expression. “Enough,” he says, in a tone of voice that Tony feels is far too casual for this topic of discussion. It drops to something considerably more dangerous and undeniably seductive as he adds, stepping into Tony's personal space, "Why didn't you tell me you wanted me to bend you over a table, Stark?"

Tony's brain short-circuits.

His system reboots and before he even registers that his mouth is moving, he's saying, "Are you--is this Loki? Or have I gone certifiably off the rails? Am I--"

He's cut off by Steve crushing his mouth against his. Tony opens for the kiss immediately; he would have to be actually certifiably off the rails not to succumb instantly to what he's wanted for so long.

Because he _has_ wanted this, he realizes, so badly that it hurts.

It feels surreal. It feels like a dream, and he has to pull back for a second to just look at Steve, look at his parted lips, his flushed face, his eyes a dark reflection of Tony's own need and desire lain bare between them. "Steve," he whispers. He has so many questions, what are they doing, does Steve have feelings for him or does he just want to bone, does _he_ have feelings for _Steve_ or does--

Then Steve is kissing him again and suddenly he can't think at all.

Steve kisses the way he fights: earnestly, straightforward, and with immense force. All of Tony’s lingering concerns that this might somehow be one-sided fly out the window, up into the sky, and through a portal into another world at the way Steve opens for him, all teeth and tongue; the way his hands grab and hold on to Tony like he’ll vanish if he lets go. It feels like hand-to-hand combat, like both of them are fighting, clawing at each other, each trying to impart their feelings as physically as possible. Tony knows he’s lost the battle when he feels Steve’s fingers curl in his hair and pull back, drawing a stuttering gasp from him. Steve’s mouth roves hungrily over his exposed throat. As a last stand, his hands snake around to grab two fistfuls of Steve’s ass through his sweatpants and _holy shit_ it’s just as perfect as it looks--

Steve breaks the kiss to wrestle Tony’s hands away, gripping both of them in one broad palm, that super-serum strength a rigid vice around his wrists. Then suddenly he’s backed against a wall, his arms pinned above his head, Steve’s unoccupied hand pressing into his groin and he must’ve traveled back in time to his teenage years because he’s hard in his pants already.

“Call me old-fashioned,” Steve growls against Tony’s ear, giving him a squeeze, “but none of your machines can compare to the real thing.”

Tony is very inclined to agree, but looking at JAC over Steve’s shoulder, a sudden inspiration floats down from the heavens on a beam of angelic light. “You might be surprised there, Cap,” he says tightly. “JARVIS, wake up JAC.”

Steve pauses, and Tony can see the apprehension back in his face. “Is JARVIS--?”

“It’s better if you don’t think about it. Um, you were saying?”

A shadow seems to fall over them as JAC steps up next to Steve, who has to tilt his head back to meet the bot’s eyes. The image of Steve having to look up at someone is really doing something for the tent in Tony's pants, but the poetic justice of it is short-lived as JAC looks down at Steve, arms crossed, then back at Tony, and says in Steve’s voice, “So, are you going to demonstrate the latest Stark tech to the good Captain here?”

Steve looks taken aback for a moment, even hesitantly releases Tony's wrists, but quickly recovers: “That’s what it sounded like to me,” he says slyly.

Tony locks eyes with Steve. He’s never one to back down from a challenge--or, let’s be honest, a chance to show off. He wets his lips, watches Steve’s eyes follow the movement. “What do you want to see?”

Steve gives JAC an actual once-over and looks back at Tony, and his expression--it's thoughtful, almost devious, he obviously wants to see Tony made undone, but it's also… longing. It's clear from the look on his face alone that he _needs_ , the same way Tony does. "I want to see you take both of us," he says, his voice low.

Tony nods. There's a moment of stillness as he stares at Steve, dark eyes searching for any crack in the foundation and finding only sincerity. Then he pushes off the wall, taking off his shirt. "This table looks about the right height," he says, sweeping a few papers and tools off of it and onto the floor without a second thought. He hops up onto it and lays back, head hanging off the other side, suppressing a shiver from the cold steel surface.

Steve appears over him, tugging at the waist of his pants, and he lifts his hips to help. "JARVIS, a little mood lighting?" The lights in the workshop dim until only the blue and orange from the holograms and display cases outline Steve's figure, contouring every muscle and plane of his face in a dichotomy of warm and cool.

"I should've guessed you don't wear underwear," Steve mutters as soon as his pants are free from his waist. Tony's sure there's a joke about the Howling Commandos in there somewhere.

When JAC comes to stand over Tony's head, he snaps his fingers and points away. "Nuh-uh. Switch spots with Steve, big guy. Steve, in that drawer--don't give me that look, just trust me--there's a rubber O-ring in that drawer, should work well enough as a cock ring, will you grab it for me?" JAC takes Steve's place pulling off Tony's pants the rest of the way, and yeah, there's no way Tony's going to deepthroat a fucking “ _nenotech apparatus_ ” when the other option is to choke on Captain America's super-soldier cock. To his genuine surprise, he feels JAC's fingers probing, lube-slicked, at his hole. "What, are you using fingers this time, huh? Guess I should have company over more often if _nhh--_ " His stream of thought cuts off abruptly as JAC follows his first finger with a very insistent second.

Steve returns with the ring while JAC is still working him open. "Thank God, I won't last five minutes without this thing," Tony mutters as Steve reaches over him, upside-down from Tony's perspective, to help roll it down to the base of his dick.

"You saying you're easy, Stark?" Steve says, giving his dick another squeeze that makes him suck in a sharp breath.

"I mean, that much is obvious," says JAC, adding finger number three and making Tony squirm.

He tips his head back and scowls. "Jesus, Steve, what do you still have your pants on for?" he grumbles, reaching for Steve's waistband.

Steve grabs him by the wrists again and silently twists Tony's hands away from their target. When he's released, he doesn't go for it a second time. With one hand, Steve tugs his erection free from his sweatpants and starts stroking; with the other, he hooks a thumb in Tony's jaw, the pad pressing up into his tongue. Tony’s mouth opens obediently as Steve guides his cock into it.

Steve is enormous, because of course he is; his girth stretches Tony’s jaw to aching. Steve slides forward over Tony’s tongue, and he takes a deep breath through his nose, preparing to suppress a gag, but Steve hesitates and stops. “Are you…” he starts to say.

By way of answering, Tony gropes above his head, digs his fingers into the juncture of Steve’s ass and thighs, and pulls. Steve moves with him, pushing forward again, past the back of Tony’s throat.  Simultaneously, Tony feels JAC replace its metal fingers with the smooth head of its new nanotech dildo. He has to force himself to relax, suppressing his body's instincts to rebel against the intrusions. They both hilt themselves at the same time, and Tony has a moment to feel utterly stuffed before they both pull back and sink in again slowly, testing his limits. Once upon a time Tony would’ve puked, but years of wild orgies, googling “how to deepthroat,” and of course, practice, slowly ebbed away his gag reflex until all he needed to subdue it was some concentration, deep breaths, and regular breaks.

He feels JAC’s hands settle firmly in the hollows of his hips as it picks up the pace, just a little. The shape of the new dildo isn't nearly as intense as the last one, but Tony has no doubt JAC will want to test out the new features before the night is done. Plus, he doesn't want to get too distracted from his task; he's determined to make Steve cum before him. “It’s okay,” says JAC, presumably to Steve, “he can take it.”

Steve’s next few thrusts are a little bolder, his balls bumping against Tony’s nose--then he pulls out. It’s too soon, Tony still had a little while before he'd need air, but Steve is looking down at him with that adorable little furrow in his brow as Tony breathes in. He could reassure him, but that would be no fun. Tony knows if he wants to get pounded at both ends, he’s got to earn it. “I gotta ask, Cap,” he says, reaching up to give Steve’s cock a pull, “and I’m sure you get this a lot, but was it this big before the serum, or--?”

The tension vanishes from Steve’s face and he doesn’t let Tony finish, plunging back into Tony’s open mouth with a bit more force than before. He thrusts harder, JAC matching his pace almost perfectly. It’s a sensation Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, his insides feeling compressed like a coil with each pump. His fingers grip the edge of the table in the only semblance of control he has left. Dimly, he’s aware of JAC lifting his legs so his ankles rest over its shoulders. Though he can’t see Steve (well, his upper half, anyway) from this angle, he can just tell by lack of contact that the guy doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

Just when his lungs are starting to burn, Steve pulls out, and Tony heaves in a massive breath. He forgoes words this time, just grabs one of Steve’s hands in his own and guides it to his bare throat. It stays there, a warm, firm collar, as Steve sinks back in. At first, it sits inert, snug around the cords of his neck, just feeling the movement of his own dick under the skin. Then it squeezes, and Tony feels as though his windpipe has simply ceased to exist, effectively crushed between Steve's broad palm and thrusting cock.

"I've thought about this, you know," says Steve, and there's a strained quaver to his voice that gives Tony a rush of satisfaction. "Every time we're on a mission and you get too mouthy. Thought about just shutting you up like this." That is unbelievably hot. Thinking of Steve, in the middle of life-or-death combat, imagining different ways to occupy Tony's smartass mouth--maybe next time they could find an abandoned building close by. Tony can picture it, him flipping up his faceplate, Steve forcing him down on his knees, still in uniform--

Steve's hand squeezes a little tighter and good god Tony can feel the _shape_ of his dick through his throat.

The lack of consistent oxygen is making his head light and his body relaxed. He feels dizzy in the best way, and for a moment, the table seems to vanish beneath him and he’s left floating, anchored only by the two cocks bucking into him. He almost forgets how to breathe by the time Steve pulls out again, but then his lungs spasm and he comes crashing back to earth.

JAC keeps thrusting, so Tony cups his hands behind Steve’s ass to pull him close again and licks hungrily down the underside of his cock, his panting breath ghosting over it. If Steve was at all soft before, he’s definitely not now. Tony's own cock is pressing flush against his stomach and he can't tell if he's leaking precum or if it's just sweat. He digs his fingers indulgently into the meat of Steve’s ass as he cranes his head back, sucking one of his balls into his mouth and drawing a short, sweet moan from him. His breathing is ragged now and Tony’s only regret as his tongue laves over Captain America’s taint is that he can’t see his perfect face.

As his mouth roams back up Steve’s shaft and his tongue swirls around the head, he hears a soft, “Oh ff… fuck…”

He pulls off immediately, twisting his head to see Steve’s expression--and what a sight he is. His blond hair a little mussed, presumably from running a hand through it; his cheeks dark; his brows drawn and eyes closed; his parted lips looking so kissable that Tony aches for it. “I can’t tell if making Captain America swear is a terrible sin or a personal achievement,” he says, his voice hoarse and unsteady with the movement of JAC’s hips. “Do you think I can put it on my resume? Because _ahh-h_ \--”

He’s cut off as Steve yanks him back into place by his hair and barely has time to draw air before his cock is down his throat again. There's no time for fancy tricks or techniques as Steve fucks his face in earnest, his balls slapping against Tony's face.

It's then that Tony feels it: shifting inside of him, JAC's new dildo expands, just a bit, and Tony almost loses it right there, his toes curling at the sensation. The dildo plunges deeper and deeper with every thrust, and his asshole stings with the stretch. JAC grips his hips tighter and he focuses on the bruising pain of its grasp to keep from blowing his load as the dildo swells, little by little, inside of him. He’s glad Steve’s doing all the work up top; it’s all he can do just to keep his mouth open.

Speaking of, Steve is making the most delightful noises--quiet, breathy grunts with each forward snap of his hips. Tony can tell he's finally starting to lose himself in it and feels a sense of pride bubbling up in his chest.

It's with great reluctance that he eventually has to smack Steve's thigh for air. Steve stays hunched over him as he catches his breath, apparently transfixed by something on his stomach. He doesn't realize Steve's other hand had been resting over the arc reactor until it moves, skimming down his torso to press gently, hesitantly, into his belly. JAC's dildo has reached its maximum size, but it's still fucking into Tony relentlessly, and he can feel the head of it pushing up to meet Steve's splayed hand through the skin like a heartbeat.

His back arches into the sensation and he sucks in a breath. “Fuck, fuck, Steve--I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that--”

“What, this?” asks Steve in feigned innocence, pressing a little harder and making Tony whine. He leaves his hand there and growls, “You’d better be good for me, Stark. Be good and let me use you.”

And he does. Steve fucks his face like it’s a fleshlight, one hand on his navel, the other clamped around his throat. His grunts are the loudest in Tony’s ears, audible proof of how well he’s doing. When he needs a break, he uses the time to worship Steve’s cock the way it deserves: with genuine enthusiasm and as much of his mouth as he can spare.

For as pent up as he is, it doesn’t take long for Steve to catch up. When he cums, he’s balls-deep down Tony’s throat, with a guttural moan and his hand clamped so hard around Tony’s windpipe that he almost passes out. He has enough wherewithal to swallow, at least--practically a basic instinct at this point--and Steve only hesitates a moment to pull out.

He sucks in a lungful of air, head tipping back bonelessly over the edge of the table, honestly surprised that his poor, abused throat still knows how to open his airway. Steve--super-soldier, serum-enhanced, peak-of-human-perfection Steve--is similarly spent, panting above him, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Holy shit, Tony," he whispers reverently. Tony thinks vaguely that this might be the proudest he's ever felt, and that's saying something.

As soon as he has breath to speak, he croaks in a strained voice, "Language, Cap."

Steve huffs a laugh that makes the corners of Tony’s mouth twitch up in a smile. At last, JAC’s dildo shifts back to its original size and it pulls out, eliciting a sharp noise from Tony as it goes. Steve watches with raised eyebrows as the dildo retracts back into the bot’s body, like it had never left. As JAC turns to leave, presumably to go get a towel, Steve’s eyes catch on something else and he frowns, stepping around to the other side of the table.

Tony pushes himself up on shaky arms, feeling tender and hollow. All he can think about is the pressure in his dick, waiting for release, and he fumbles at the ring around it, trying to roll it back up with trembling fingers. Steve is there, grabbing his hands by the wrist again and wordlessly pushing them away.

“Is this going to be a thing with you?” Tony mutters, letting his hands be moved.

Steve honest-to-god _smirks_ at him as he finishes what Tony started and wraps his broad palm around Tony’s length, cutting off his gasp with a kiss. Like a jolt of electricity, a second wind of energy rushes through Tony’s system at the contact and before he can think, his hands are in Steve’s hair, his head tilting for a better angle. He sinks his teeth into Steve’s full lower lip, whimpers into his mouth as he strokes Tony off.

Steve breaks the kiss to lick and bite a line down Tony’s neck, his collarbone, his chest--Steve pauses to plant a kiss in the center of the arc reactor--his stomach--

Like a fresh, born-again virgin, Tony cums almost as soon as his dick is in Steve’s mouth, and he’s rewarded with the sight of him swallowing like a fucking champ. The white light of the arc reactor outlines Steve's cheeks where they hollow, and highlights from a blue hologram catch in his eyes. Tony feels dizzy in the afterglow, sitting back on his hands as his erratic heart finally starts to settle down. “You know--I was kind of skeptical--about your whole schtick,” he huffs between breaths, running a hand through Steve’s hair. “Captain America, the hero who protects the innocent, punches nazis, and reciprocates oral. But now I definitely see it.”

Steve laughs and plants a kiss on his inner thigh. “I have a reputation to uphold,” he says, standing. JAC chooses that moment to step into view, holding a wet towel, which Steve takes.

Tony sits patiently, watching Steve’s expression carefully while he wipes the rivulets of lube off his ass and inner thighs. “I gotta ask,” he says, “was that your first time? Because to be honest, I’d always assumed you were a virgin.”

Steve raises his eyebrows sardonically. “Clearly you've never been in the army in the forties,” he says, passing the towel back to JAC. He grabs Tony’s pants off the floor and helps him put them on. “A group of men in close quarters, missing their wives, experiencing all kinds of horrors together--we helped each other out however we could. Mostly just--handies under the covers, physical intimacy, that sort of thing. Nothing like… this.”

“So, did the Howling Commandos really go Commando, or…?” Okay, so the joke is pretty late, but he was a little occupied earlier.

“One of them did,” says Steve with a glint in his eye as Tony finishes pulling his pants up to his waist. He can probably guess which one. “Um. Did you want to go back to your bedroom, or…?"

"Are you asking me if I want to cuddle? Because the answer is definitely yes," says Tony without a second thought. "But I, uh, I don't think my legs are working yet. Sofa?"

Steve nods and, before Tony can react, scoops him up in his arms, bridal style.

"Do I weigh _anything_ to you?" Tony asks as he's carried to the sofa.

"I think so? It's kinda like picking up a big cat," says Steve lightly. The sofa is enormous, one of those big sectionals, and he lays Tony down in the cuddle corner like a gentleman before climbing in next to him.

"We're definitely gonna have some fun with that next time." The two of them shift together, Tony making himself comfortable in the crook of Steve's shoulder. "I mean, assuming this isn't a one-time thing. If it is, I can work with that--wouldn't be--"

He's shocked into silence when Steve plants a soft kiss on his temple and cards his fingers gently through Tony's hair. "I would like there to be a next time," he murmurs. His other hand comes around to settle on Tony's chest, his index finger tracing the rim of it like a wine glass. "I… I like you, Tony."

"As confessions of love go, this one is pretty unconventional," Tony says quietly, laying his hand over Steve's. "But for what it's worth, I. Um. I like you, too. And not just because you're, you know, stacked and have a huge dick."

Steve huffs a small laugh and, after a beat, says, "To answer your question, yes, it was that big before the serum."

Tony whistles, impressed. “No shit?"

"No shit."

Tony turns his head to lay against Steve's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "For someone who's pretty new at this, you really nailed the whole dominance thing, by the way."

"I've… fantasized a lot," says Steve.

Tony twists to look at him and can see his ears turning pink even in the dim light. "Really, Steve, with the blushing? You're killing me."

He laughs a little sheepishly. After a moment, he explains, "When you grow up a little guy like me, sometimes--I dunno, I got beat down so many times, the idea of being able to turn the tables on someone… I'd think about it a lot." He shrugs his shoulders. "Watching porn helped some, too."

“You watch--? Okay, we’re putting a pin in that one, because I definitely want to know more about your porn search history later--”

"Yeah, yeah--"

JAC shows up then, and Tony feels a little twinge of guilt that he'd completely forgotten about the bot. It drapes a blanket over the two of them, the same one it had brought for Tony the night before.

"Thanks, JAC," says Steve.

"You're welcome." Tony starts to wonder if it's developed some kind of attachment to using Steve's voice. To Tony, it asks, "Should I power down for the night?"

"Yes, please." As JAC retreats, Tony remarks to Steve, "I suppose if this," he gestures at the two of them, "is going to be a thing, I won't really need him around, huh?"

Steve shifts a little, seems to hesitate. "I dunno," he says casually. "I think I could get used to having him around."

Tony grins into Steve's shirt. "If you say so, Cap."

**Author's Note:**

> pls drop a comment if you enjoyed this weird smut i would love to hear from u
> 
> also despite my recent upload history i don't actually write that much, but i do post a lot of art on my [tumblr](http://dragonfluffstudios.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](http://twitter.com/fluff_studios) ✌️


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